


the one where everyone's talking food in a kitchen

by madameofmusic



Series: Tumblr Fic [5]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9142891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic/pseuds/madameofmusic
Summary: Ransom and Holster have some... things, to talk about, before graduation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was given the prompt, "Everyone is talking food in a kitchen. Instead of graduating, they're eaten." This isn't quite that.

“Rans, promise me you won’t leave me.” Holster says, his banana nut muffin body edging closer to Ransom’s bran muffin form. 

Ransom sniffles. “Of course not, bro.” He says, leaning into Holster in turn. “You’re my best bro.” They sit for a second, before Ransom speaks again. “You promise you’ll call me when you’re in Buffalo?” 

Holster nods, as best as his form lets him. “Of course. Every day. Multiple times a day, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Rans-” 

Bitty sighs, folding his arms across his chest. “Boys, don’t play with your food.” He says, rolling his eyes fondly. Jack is standing behind him, staring at the pair with a befuddled expression on his face. 

“Were you guys… roleplaying?” He asks, running a hand through his hair and ruining the gelled back waves. 

Holster flushes, and shoves half of his muffin in his mouth. “We were having a creative discussion.” He says through the chunk, though it sounds more like “e ‘ur ‘avng a crea’ive ‘iscussion.”

Ransom nods, tearing into his own muffin. “S’not weird. The muffin looked like Holster’s head.”

Holster gulps, and nods in agreement. “Yeah! And the muffin had Ransom’s jawline.”

Jack raises his eyebrows, bewildered. “It’s weird.” 

Bitty swats him, but smiles up at him lovingly. “Let them have their fun, honey. Lord knows you did weirder on  _ your _ last day.” 

Jack looks scandalized, and follows Bitty out of the kitchen once more and up to his room. “I did  _ not-”  _ His words echo down the stairs, and then the kitchen is silent again. 

The pair finish their muffins, and then sit. Holster’s fingers trace the grains of the wooden table, a slight frown playing on his lips. 

Ransom’s position mirrors his own, though his hands are folded softly on the table. He avoids Holster’s eyes, as if that will stop this entire situation from being  _ weird as hell _ . 

They’re  _ graduating _ . In 24 hours, all of their stuff will be out of the attic, and in a month, Ransom will be in California for Med school, and Holster with be back in Buffalo for grad school. 

They’ve lived together for four years, been practically attached at the hip for 99 percent of that, and it’s all coming to an end. If Holster thinks about it too much, something heavy sticks in his throat, and he feels like he can’t breathe.

“It’ll be okay, you know that, right?” Ransom’s voice shatters the silence.

Holster meets his eyes, and can’t bring the smile that turns up the corner of his mouth to meet his eyes. “Sure.” 

Ransom lets out a frustrated sigh. “Are we going to talk about this before we leave, or are we just gonna make our last day together awkward?” 

Holster presses his lips together, and looks out to the living room. The frogs are curled up on the couch, bent over one of their laptops and laughing at a video. He can hear the faint sounds of Bitty and Jack talking through Bitty’s cracked door. “Yeah.” He says, and then stands. “Can we go for a walk, though?”

Ransom stands as well, and nods. They leave the Haus. Holster jams his hands in his pockets, and kicks at the last of the snow on the ground. It’s early May, and it’s still snowing. Holster’s grown up in New York all his life, has seen this happen every year since he was old enough to remember, and it still doesn’t make sense. The snow, in his opinion, should be melted by now. 

“Holster.” 

Holster looks over at Ransom, meets his eyes. “Ransom.” 

“You know I-” Ransom hesitates, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. They’re always chapped, and Holster, without thinking, hands him his tube of chapstick. 

Ransom accepts it, puts it on, and pockets it. “You know I’m gonna miss you, right?” His voice is quiet, filled with unsaid things, unspoken promises. 

Holster nods. “Of course. I’m gonna miss you too, man.” 

Ransom grits his teeth. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Ransom mutters. 

Holster stops. They’re already at the end of the street. “I know.” He steps closer, and grabs Ransom’s hand, tentatively. “I just. It’s not… good. Right before we’re leaving.” 

Ransom’s head falls forward onto Holster’s shoulder. “I want it to be right. I want you to be right there with me in California.” 

Holster laughs, ruefully. “Yeah, well, that’s what you get for being so smart. If you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself a full-ride scholarship…” He trails off. “It’ll be fine.” 

It doesn’t sound convincing. “Yeah.” Ransom doesn’t sound convinced. 

A week ago, Ransom had kissed him, and admitted he’d been in love with Holster for years. Holster told him the same thing, and they’d bee happy for as long as it had taken them to realise that they were going to be on opposite sides of the country for at least two years, but probably more. 

It had gone downhill from there. 

“Look, we’ll call each other every day. And I’ll pick you up from JFK and we can drive together to Toronto for Christmas.” Ransom nods. “And we have spring and summer breaks.”

Ransom steps back, and pulls his hand out of Holster’s. “It’s only a few months at a time.” He says, and smiles at Holster, but there’s nothing good behind his expression. “We’ll be fine.” He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than Holster. 

Holster nods, and matches Ransom’s expression. “Of course,” he says, but it doesn’t feel like  _ of course _ at all. It feels more like  _ goodbye _ . 

Holster wishes he’d had the guts to tell Ransom how he felt earlier. To ruin something so fresh, so new. It’s… a travesty, really. He squeezes Ransom’s shoulder, and turns on his heel. “C’mon. We still have shit to pack, and I don’t want to get yelled at by your mom.” 

Ransom laughs, but it sounds hollow, and his shoulders are hunched inwards. Holster doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps walking. Ransom follows. 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt me [](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/ask%E2%80%9D>here</a>.)


End file.
